


Once I shake it free I can escape this path

by mugiji (shichan)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Byhardt Week (Fire Emblem), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Time Skip, War, blood (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shichan/pseuds/mugiji
Summary: [...] but Byleth is not good at explaining things. Especially war and himself. Sometimes he feels like they are quite the same.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18
Collections: BYHARDT WEEK 2020





	Once I shake it free I can escape this path

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6 of byhardt week!   
> I'm sorry if this ends up being a byleth centric/character study... it's because I love his pov too much, probably. There's still byhardt content but it's not an established relationship yet. This is why I should never write angst, forgive me just this once.  
> T-rated because war is war (so mentions of: blood, killing and so on).

The first thing he recognizes when he regains his consciousness it’s the sound of heels that makes him think  _ ah, must be Manuela _ . The second sound he notices is the rain against the window, so he must be in the infirmary now. Under his hands, the familiar feeling of fabric suggests that he must be laying on a bed. All in all, his body doesn’t hurt that much so whatever wound he had, must have been treated by some healer already. If anything, Byleth has a bit of a headache and feels as if his body is suddenly way heavier but… everything else is okay.

“Dear,” for a moment Byleth thinks that Manuela noticed he’s awake (more or less) and addressed him, “you should rest. I know you are worried, but he’s okay now. And you healed so many injuries during the last battle that I’m surprised you have not collapsed.” she says, trying to sound comforting. Those words clearly can’t be for Byleth, but before he can actually process that thought Linhardt’s voice softly asks “Why must war be like this?” and Byleth has never heard his voice so broken and disheartened. He wants to tell him that it will be okay, that the war will end— he wants to tell him so many things, hoping he will feel a bit better, but his body is so heavy and he feels so sleepy.

Manuela replies something about the war being hard to understand even for soldiers who are used to it. If only he could answer all Linhardt’s questions… but Byleth is not good at explaining things. Especially war and himself.

Sometimes he feels like they are quite the same.

  
*

  
Nobody believes it, but the war is quiet. People think about how much war destroys, how many people die; the minds of those who see war and take part in it are filled with cries, with despair, with the clatter of swords and axes and spears. War is linked to the awful smell of burnt flesh because of Reason magic, to the blood you spill, to the ashes that fill the air so much that breathing becomes unbearable. It’s destroyed houses. Destroyed lives. War is all this so people can’t help but think that war is loud and unstoppable.

But it’s not. Or better said it is  _ in the end _ . Byleth, though, learned the hard way that war is war before all that. It’s how people start to hate each other, silently piling up everything different from them, everything they think is unacceptable to the point that it deserves to be annihilated. It’s how leaders of different factions lie, how they spy each other, how they deceive. War is when soldiers leave their families before dawn, saying farewell in a whisper to not wake their children; it’s when they don’t dare to breathe because if they are heard, then they’ll be killed.

When war is quiet, when it still goes unnoticed, Byleth thinks it’s even more terrifying. The moment of tension before he can attack his target has always been more nerve-wracking than the kill itself. And when it finally ends, when it  _ quiets down _ all that’s left is mourning and pain and loss. 

Byleth has once ( _ more than once _ ) been considered a demon that brought death, if not war. The Ashen Demon that almost every single soldier and, for sure, every mercenary knew about— a silent killer that never failed to take the life of his target. Byleth spent months in the monastery, as a teacher, and went to fight with his students without knowing what was so different from before. He was called ‘Professor’ but he acted as a mercenary. He was still war, somehow, because he didn’t ( _ doesn’t? _ ) know how to be anything else. Until when, for the first time, he shouted right before attacking— “ _ No hesitation! _ ”

_ War is quiet, until it erupts. _

_   
_ *

  
Byleth might not remember well his childhood years and, if he has to be honest, he does not remember every single battle he fought in. Yet there are some memories that he doubts he will ever forget, single moments during jobs that are indelibly in his mind— that time during one of his first official jobs as a mercenary, when he was still basically a kid and despite that he killed like he was asked ( _ supposed _ ) to and paid for. It was an assassination, nothing more and nothing less; Byleth still recalls the face of his target, their features that were expressing the fear, the obvious shaking, the pleading. He can still feel the sword cutting the flesh, can see the blood spilling and staining the grass under the body of a person who maybe didn’t do anything wrong or maybe they did, that was not the point. 

It was winter. It was cold, but the sky was incredibly clear. He trembled because of the weather, not for the murder.

Then, years after that and several jobs after the first one, Byleth was paid for a rescue. He should have liked it way more than all the missions where he and Father had to be the bad guys, but Byleth felt nothing special. He still did everything according to Father’s instructions and they rescued the small family— but in order to do that, they had to kill a bunch of bandits and so Byleth did. He and Father took down most of them and when the last two escaped, Byleth chased after them and made it so that they would never cause harm again. It sounded hero-like and if it were a fairytale, Byleth would have been thanked and rewarded with kind words if not something more.

But a killer is still a killer, blood was on his face and clothes and sword. When the younger son of that small family saw him, there were no grateful words for him, no admiration heroes get. The child cried and cried and hid from him behind his mother. Byleth should have been sad, but he didn’t feel anything in particular because death and war were part of him, nothing extraordinary nor something he wanted to be thanked for.

While going back to their small camp, Father told him “Don’t think too much about that, kid.” because he probably didn’t know what else to say and thought he took it the wrong way. But Byleth didn’t— should he have said something to not worry his father more than that? He didn’t know, but since he felt like telling him  _ I’m okay, I don’t feel anything _ was not the right answer, he just let it go. “Probably we have to clean up ourselves before going back to those we rescue. I’ll remember next time.”

Father had a strange expression Byleth didn’t know. They never talked about it.

The third job he remembers better, was being part of a small company made of soldiers that would have been outnumbered otherwise. It wasn’t the easiest one, because soldiers know how to fight, no matter the faction; but in a sense it had fewer aspects to worry about— no easily scared children, no people to save, only temporary enemies. Byleth fought and fought and killed to survive. And when he was against a soldier (the umpteenth one, because he never really counted them since it was unnecessary) they attacked and defended and in the end Byleth vividly recalls the soldier on the ground, unarmed and conscious that death was approaching him. 

“The Ashen Demon.” he said, poison in his voice and scorn in his eyes, lips bent in a smile that wasn’t a real smile at all, “You really are able to kill without feeling anything.” it wasn’t even an accusation. It was a statement. Byleth lifted his arm and sword, ready to kill. And that man  _ snorted _ “Nothing less from a monster.”

Byleth killed, because what else was he supposed to do? Yet, back to the camp again, he remembers Father asking him “You okay, kid?” and he nodded. Had war made a monster out of him or was he unable to be afraid of war because he was a monster since the beginning?

_ War brings out people’s cruelty and makes them heartless because kindness hardly survives. _

  
*

  
A soft voice is calling him and, in the end, Byleth opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Linhardt’s face, his features showing something Byleth can’t recognize. Linhardt’s hair looks so close that, instinctively, Byleth reaches out with his hand to touch it— when he does, something sends him the message that this is not him still dreaming but the reality. 

“Linhardt…?” he asks, confused; he remembers listening to Manuela’s voice and yes, there was Linhardt too, but… did he fall asleep? “Are you okay?” is the only sentence he gets from Linhardt, not even getting what he means. And then Byleth remembers that he’s still in the infirmary and slowly nods, trying to sit. “I don’t feel any pain.” he assures “Only tired.” “But you are crying.”

Byleth is confused until, bringing a hand to his own face, he feels the wetness on his cheek. Last time he cried was… after Father’s death. So why is he, now?

“Did you have a nightmare?” Linhardt asks, again, worry still in his voice despite the fact that he’s probably trying to hide it. Byleth thinks about it: the dream he saw was nothing more than a bunch of memories from his mercenary days, nothing he doesn’t remember even when awake every now and then. What did shock him so much, to the point of crying? “Not really. I just remembered some fights in the past, I think. Did Manuela give you an answer?”

Linhardt looks confused and frowns. “I heard you asking her why war is like this… but then I fall back asleep.” Byleth admits, almost feeling guilty for eavesdropping even though it was not on purpose. A flash of understanding in Linhardt’s eyes tells him that the healer just realized what Byleth means— it doesn’t look like Linhardt is happy about it, but he still doesn’t scold Byleth for not telling them he was awake. He just shakes his head. “It was a stupid question anyway.” he grumbles.

“I don’t think it was. I can…” Byleth hesitates “I could tell you, but… I don’t think you would like it.” “Is it so bad or do you think I’m still a student too sheltered to know the truth?” Linhardt interrupts him when Byleth is about to add something else. He has always known that if he wanted to get something out of Linhardt, more than what his words were telling him, he had to look at his eyes. Byleth is not sure the healer knows, but his eyes have always given away more than Linhardt wanted to— Byleth learned from them how much Linhardt dislikes blood even before he admitted it; saw in the way the blue darkens at what cost he takes the life of someone because he has to; Byleth noticed from the spark in them that Linhardt loved to talk about crests and magic.

So now no matter how much he tries to hide it, Byleth can see that the target of Linhardt’s irritation is probably no one but Linhardt himself.

“I think that, to understand war, you could just look at me.” 

Linhardt widen gaze is on him so quickly that it almost makes Byleth dizzy. “What…?” “That’s what a soldier in the past said.” he simply admits “That I was able to kill without feeling anything.” 

Linhardt’s eyes don’t leave his figure, not even for a second. Byleth notices his lips trembling slightly before he hears him saying “Were you very young when he told you?” “Not really. Not too long before I came here.”

Silence fills the room for enough time that Byleth thinks he messed up again. Maybe a monster shouldn’t try to explain the emotions and the thoughts of humans— isn’t he  _ literally  _ heartless, after all? How could he understand?

Unexpectedly, though, Linhardt’s hand reaches his. It’s a light touch, but it’s so warm that Byleth feels his stomach twist ( _ it’s weird but it’s also pleasant. Is it so contradictory because he doesn’t understand humans? _ ) and can’t help but look at their hands even when Linhardt speaks and finally breaks the silence and the uneasiness Byleth wasn’t even aware of.

“Would you be okay, if someone killed me?” “W-What—” “Do you think” Linhardt keeps going “that you wouldn’t feel anything if a soldier killed me in front of you?”

Byleth feels for the first time so many things all together that it causes him nausea. 

“Of course… of course I would— I would save you before that happens, I—” “That’s what I thought.” Linhardt stops him, probably sensing that Byleth is being too agitated for his standards. “And if someone told you to kill me, would you be able to do it without feeling anything?”

“I don’t want to kill you. I…”  _ I can’t _ , it’s what he wants to say, to  _ shout _ . “See? You  _ do _ feel something. In fact,” Linhardt says, with a small smile “I think you feel way more than you think, Professor.” he assures and how he can be so confident, Byleth doesn’t know. 

War is something Byleth has always  _ felt _ but never knew how to explain, because it was his whole world in a sense, and you don’t just explain how you breathe or survive. He still doesn’t know if Linhardt is right, how much of a human lies somewhere within him. But maybe, just maybe… there is something different from back then, something that changed and is still changing since the moment he ceased being a mercenary and became a professor instead. Will he ever understand what that is?

_ War is made, but peace can be made too. _


End file.
